In This Mountain Read Online Free PDF Page A

dental problems, families without transportation, unpaved roads, a high rate of school dropouts—bottom line, an area not unlike Mitford’s Creek community before it had become a shopping center.
    Theirs would be a simple ministry and, as far as he was concerned, that was among its attractions. Along with Father Roland and a zealous young Kentucky priest and his wife, they would live in the remote community much like other mountain families; except that, each afternoon, they would open the doors of their homes to whatever young people might come. There would be art classes and singing, Bible stories and books, food and games—a safe place, a good place; and on Sunday, he and the other two priests would celebrate and preach in the several widely scattered mission churches formed in the last century by ardent Anglican bishops.
    The move itself would be the soul of simplicity: They would load the Mustang with kitchen gadgetry, a bolt of mosquito netting, five suitcases, four pillows, and a heap of blankets. They would ship thirty-six pounds of art supplies and two hundred books by truck. On arrival, they would set up housekeeping in a sparsely furnished metal building with a cement floor.
    His wife had paled when told about the metal building, and had nearly reneged on the whole deal when the subject of cement floors arose.
    “But,” she had said, “it’s not about cement floors.”
    He patted her hand that held the letter. I’m sorry , he wanted to say, but didn’t. And he really was sorry, for he liked nothing more than to see his wife able to give something back in her own way, in a way not connected to being a priest’s wife.
    He looked into her earnest face and was shamed by his feelings. He was unutterably selfish; deep down inside he knew it, and no, he could never confess it to her, not in a thousand years.
     
    At Mitford Blossoms, he asked Jena Ivey for a dozen roses; long-stemmed, without wires, ferns, or gypsophilia, please, in a box lined with green paper and tied with a pink satin ribbon.
    “Oh, I remember how she likes her roses!” Jena looked him in the eye, smiling. “And it’s been ages since you’ve done this.”
    He blushed. He was still smarting from the dark recognition that he desperately feared being separated from his wife. It had made him feel suddenly weak and frail, like a child. All those years alone, a bachelor who seldom yearned for the hearthstone of a wife’s love, and now…he was a man beset with a dreadful mixture of anxiety and humiliation over the depth of his attachment.
    “Make that…” The words lodged in his throat. “Make that two dozen!”
    Jena blinked, unbelieving. She had never known but one other man in Mitford to buy two dozen roses at a whack, and that was Andrew Gregory, the mayor. Every time he and his Italian wife had an anniversary, Mr. Gregory hotfooted it to Mitford Blossoms and laid out cash money, no matter what the going rate.
    “Why, Father! Cynthia will think…she’ll think you’ve gone ’round the bend!”
    He forced a grin. “And she would be right,” he said.
     
    “Tim?”
    It was John Brewster, director of the Children’s Hospital in Wesley.
    “Yes, John, how are you, good fellow?”
    “Couldn’t be better, I have some great news.”
    “I’m eternally interested in great news!”
    “We’ve finally got the funds to hire someone, someone strong, savvy, good at encouraging our donors—the kind of person who can really make a difference around here.”
    “Terrific! This has been a long time coming.”
    “A long time coming, and I’m asking you to consider the position.”
    There was a brief silence.
    “We can talk about the particulars later. You’re the absolutely perfect person for the job, Tim—heaven-sent, if you ask me. I hope you’ll say yes.” “Ah.” He was oddly shaken. Yes, it was something he would like doing and would, in fact, be pretty good at doing. But…
    “It’s too late,” he told the director.